


get something started

by temerity (forsanethaec)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drunk Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsanethaec/pseuds/temerity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time doesn't count. (But if it does, Niall's not complaining.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	get something started

**Author's Note:**

> This was written while listening to the fratmusic.com playlist 'Broin Out.' Unbeta'd. I hate my life.

It’s late enough in L.A. that even the cameras are gone when they stumble out of the club, though Niall wasn’t strictly aware there was such a time of day. But it’s a relief, because he’s drunk, loose-limbed and flush with it. The others have disappeared, maybe ferried back to the hotel already or else gone home with whomever, and it’s only Louis ahead of him now. Niall laughs, just because. 

“Where are we going?”

Louis looks back with an easy grin and warm, devilish eyes, extending a hand toward Niall’s somewhere, catching him around the forearm below his elbow. He pulls him forward, stumbling, against his side. Their feet tangle with forward momentum and Niall nearly takes him down, the world tipping on its axis like it’s spinning around Louis’ center of gravity now rather than its own. Niall wheels with it, laughing into something warm and nice-smelling that turns out to be the side of Louis’ neck. 

“Steady on, Irish,” comes the murmur, a little slurred, into the vicinity of his temple. Niall is still laughing.

“Louis,” he says, trying to use the word to tug his mouth back into something that can form coherent sentences, which, unsurprisingly, does not work. “Where’s the car?”

“Dunno.” Louis looks around, an arm slung around Niall’s waist pulling him with and making them both weave again. They’re halfway down the block, somehow, and a girl in sunglasses passing by looks twice at them but they don’t look once at her. “I don’t see the car, do you?”

“No,” Niall laughs. He can’t stop fucking laughing. He pushes his arm across Louis’ shoulders and his hip into Louis’ hip, sidelong. It’s just too fucking funny, is all, this, them. Where is everyone? 

“Should know better than to leave us on our own.” He wets his lips like he can lick the internal monologue back into his mouth where it ought to be staying. 

Louis looks over at him, almost cross-eyed with the close proximity.

“Alright,” he says, suddenly mock-annoyed – real annoyed? unlikely, but too drunk to say for sure – and then he’s planting one on Niall, right at the corner of his mouth, and Niall can’t tell where he was aiming because he turned his cheek on instinct, and the bottom line is he’s a fucking idiot. 

His head is spinning a little and he just pushes his nose into the hinge of Louis’ jaw, hiding. The patch of skin that had had Louis’ lips on it is tingling. “You’re drunk,” he informs him.

“A fine point, sir.” Louis extricates himself a little to look at Niall, hazy eyes and lazy mouth pulling at the corners. Niall chalks the flush in his cheeks up to liquor. 

“We should make a phone call.” Louis’ eyes go wide like he’s faking at having only just remembered, after a moment in which they just stare at each other, pink-cheeked. Niall starts laughing again, and he’s glad that he doesn’t manage to stop until they’re well into the backseat behind a privacy shade, half-passed out against each other in a daze. 

(And there’s a way it ends in which nothing happens after that, two doors shutting, the flash of Louis’ teeth and his blue eyes disappearing – with the ceiling a whir of white and the bed too big and that sour feeling in the pit of Niall’s stomach, where a good night has ended just this side of south. Where he remembers when he wakes up the next day, groggy and cotton-mouthed, and feels distantly like he’d hoped he’d forget.

But that is, of course, not how it ends this time.)

“Niall,” Louis says sternly, once they’re in the soft yellow soundproofing of the hotel corridor, as Niall makes to keep on down the hallway to his room. 

The sound of those vowels all round and liquid in Louis’ mouth stops Niall short like they’ve tugged him back on a string. He turns, stumbles, bumps into the wall. “Shh,” he tells Louis, giggling, biting the side of his hand to keep quiet. “What?” 

“Niall,” Louis says again, lower, and Niall doesn’t know where the little shiver that interrupts his laughter comes from, only that it ripples down through his shoulders and stills him where he stands. 

“Think you owe me something.” Louis leans in a little to say it and Niall feels himself tipping forward on reflex, but then Louis pulls back, looking at him, swaying a little where he stands.

“Oh, that, now?” Niall attempts, several possible sentences combining to form none at all. Louis’ mouth twitches in spite of the valiant attempt he’s making at austerity. 

“You turned your cheek,” Louis says, and his fingers find the hem of Niall’s shirt, fiddling their way beneath it to brush the warm skin above Niall’s hip, making his stomach jump in.

Niall leans forward into that tug of gravity again, booze and Louis (not necessarily in that order) making him dozy and careless. “Didn’t mean to,” he mutters. He catches the way Louis’ face shifts then and realizes he was actually paying attention, waiting for Niall’s answer. 

“’S okay,” he says, edging his fingers around Louis’ waist, mirroring where Louis’ are still fluttering against his stomach, and pulls at him, wanting just to rest his head in the crook of Louis’ shoulder. He doesn’t want Louis to worry; that Niall would turn his cheek on purpose is so far from the truth. But Louis noses up into his space, stepping between his feet and pushing forward so Niall’s back hits the wall with a thump, and then he’s kissing him, definitely on the mouth this time, and this time Niall has very much not turned his cheek at all. 

Louis’ hips rest against his, their whole torsos flush together, more out of lack of energy or need to move than anything, and Louis’ mouth is slick and imprecise and there’s more tongue than there probably should be but they’re drunk and does it really fucking matter? Because Niall is so comfortable just like this, no room between them and Louis’ fingers settled into a little circling pattern against his skin that’s so small and absent it makes Niall’s heart jump, erratic. He loops his arms around Louis’ shoulders, tips his nose into Louis’ cheek and nips into his lower lip with all the coordination he has left in him. It’s a delicious feeling that something like this has actually managed to happen after the whole night, after everything, the very best of drunken satisfaction. Better than alcohol. Like he can’t imagine feeling a way where it wasn’t happening to them.

It’s the little kiss that Louis brushes across Niall’s cheek when he pulls away that would send Niall stumbling to the floor if he wasn’t so secure between Louis’ chest and the wall. But he can’t stop a little “oh” from tumbling out of his mouth, breathy. Louis just gives him that shit-eating grin as though it’s nothing. 

“Fuck me,” Niall exhales, meaning precisely nothing by it, _thanks_ , but it hits him as he’s tipping his head back against the wall, and he catches Louis’ grin widening, one cocky eyebrow arching. 

“Shut it,” he says, feeling his face light up, grinning back. “Didn’t mean, you know.”

“Oh,” Louis says, and he leans in to brush his lips across Niall’s jaw just as he presses his hips forward, “I know.” 

They stare at each other from an inch away for one heated second. Then they burst out laughing. Niall doubles over like nothing’s ever been this funny in his life, tugging down with his body at the haphazard bracket of Louis’ arms, his easy warmth. 

“Come on,” Louis mumbles into the back of his neck, the edge of his teeth catching in Niall’s hair as he grins. “Come sleep.” 

“Sleep,” Niall says. He tries to look up at Louis through his lashes all seductively but ruins it by hiccoughing. 

“Cheeky,” Louis mutters. But he winks as his hand finds Niall’s, finding his keycard in his pocket with the other. And maybe it is nothing, but even if it’s not, it’s at the very least fantastic.


End file.
